My father is dead.

My adoptive father is deceased. I didn’t see him before his death because I had cut off contact with him about 18 years ago. He died more than seven months ago but I know it only since two weeks. His death reminded me of my first father. My first father is also deceased. I didn’t see him before his death either. I learned about it 24 years after his death. Both of them loved me in their own way, both provided food and shelter for me, both taught me different things in my life and both abandoned me in their own way.

My first father provided food and shelter for his family (his mother-in-law, his wife, his step daughter, and his three children) until a work accident that left his arm paralyzed. He was not religious but when I was four years old, I convinced him to go to the church; he decided to be baptized to make me happy. After the death of my mother, he drank a lot but never in front of me; at home, he was always sober.  When he decided to start a new life with us, instead of helping him, people used his generosity and his naivety to steal all his money.
In the eyes of society, he was poor, uneducated and without value. In my eyes, he was my hero who knew everything. I loved him and I trusted him. Despite the poverty, I've never suffered from hunger. When he had something to eat, he always thought of me first.
I trusted him until he abandoned me in a street. Some 27 years later, my sisters told me that he didn’t abandoned me; he died of cirrhosis in loneliness three years after losing me. The adoption agency didn’t contact my family before selling me but I still feel abandoned by him.

At the beginning, I didn’t trust my adoptive father. I didn’t want to kiss him, I didn’t want to hug him and I didn’t want to be near him. I started to follow him only to eat the cookies that he kept in his car or to go to church with him. I don’t know how but I started to love him as my father a year after my arrival. Another year later, I started to trust him.
When he became a born again Christian, he also became an abuser. I admired him for his eloquence when he was talking about “God’s grace – Saved by His grace, not by works- forgiven of sins – Jesus”  and I let him touch me. He took me to my piano lessons, he often told me he loved me and I trusted him.  
In the eyes of society, my adoptive father was intelligent, rich, educated, religious, eloquent and generous. At home, he was violent with his wife and he abused me. Instead of helping me by telling the truth, he gave me the first anti depressants to keep me silent. Once I got used to the drugs, he continued abusing me until I became anorexic. In case I would reveal the secret, he already started to prepare his defense by saying that I was crazy.
I stopped trusting him but I continued to love him as my real father. Few years later, when I revealed the secret to my first boyfriend, he denied everything using the name of Jesus. As long as my mother didn’t want to believe me, he continued to claim that he loved me.  

I had a father who loved me. I didn’t need a second father and I didn’t need another family; all we needed was money and food. But the adoption industry sold me to a couple to create a new family where I was abused.
Some people made money from the transaction behind my adoption; the desire of two strangers who wanted to create a family was fulfilled; my siblings lost their little sister; my father lost his daughter and died of despair.
But the society still thinks that it’s okay to be adopted by an abusive man (as long as he is rich) when the first father is too poor.

Two weeks ago, I learned that my adoptive father is dead. He was the last member of my adoptive family but I don't miss him and I wish him to be in the  hell.  I’m still mourning the lost of my birth father, my  birth family and my birth country, my birth culture, my birth language… and I’m pissed!


My silent nod

I was told all sorts of horrible things about my first parents.

For some reason I never believed them, and the more I saw my afamily for what it really was, the more I began to believe more deeply, "Someone lied, and I got caught in the middle".

I don't think there is anything more cruel than knowing the abuse in an adoptive family could have been prevented, simply by not letting those people adopt.

I used to cry all the time, "why me?!?  why the hell did they have to pick me?!?"

It didn't have to be that way, and I believe when it's all said and done, knowing it didn't have to be abusive is the worst hurt in the world.


Facing It

Before my bio mother died, I was there by her side for years and years trying to make things right for her.  It was my job and I thought, my destiny.  I walked out of her dying room and it started all over again with my bio father...
But NOT NOW!  Now I know I do not owe either of them anything.  He is 96 and he will die alone.  He would NOT talk about what they did to me and so...  I am free, of my own choosing. 

One Step Up From Bottom,


Did you ever confront you mother, face-to-face, (or on the phone, or through a letter....) and tell her how you felt, or what you were feeling?

Were you ever able to get any of it off your chest, and let her hear what all those years did to you?


Yes, I wrote her a long letter, stating exactly what a mother is NOT and what mothers do NOT do...   I could never have done this face-to-face.  When it finally hit me that I would NEVER do to my children what she had done/was doing to me, is when I walked away from her for 2 1/2 years; it was a very peaceful time in my life.  And when I finally gave in so the kids would know their grandma and not be angry for not seeing her, it was different, yet it was the same.  She NEVER admitted anything or apologized or made any effort to talk about what happened.  It didn't matter.  I finally had come to the truth of my childhood and wrote it all out; even if she didn't own her part in it, I knew and was never exactly the same again.  Only after she was gone did I allow myself to put it all together and mourn for my lost childhood.  In my time you did NOT talk bad about your parents.  But now, it has been brought forward and I do not cover for them anymore.
She had no idea of her wrongs.  She never ever admitted anything I wrote was horrible on her part.  NO ONE has the right to do to their child what she did to me for years upon years.  My dad knows...  and he chooses to take it to his grave.  So be it.

One Step Up From Bottom,

Without regret

I personally think writing a letter, whether sent or not, is very good for the hurting soul.   You stated it best:

I would NEVER do to my children what she had done/was doing to me

Sometimes, seeing those negative things in writing brings much needed clarity.

When I wrote/sent my letter to my parents, I was really hoping it would help them see how much I was hurting.  I wanted them to help me repair our relationship, but for whatever reason, that would not be the case.  As much as that hurt, I also learned I was much better and stronger than I originally imagined.  At last I was being honest about my feelings, and with that, I DID gain some personal pride and freedom.

I didn't get my parents back, but then, I lost them long before I ever wrote my note.

I know for myself, there is much I don't know about parenting, but I DO know what really pushed me away and hurt me.  I try to use those personal examples as "what not to do", and hope my own natural good-sense will keep me on a better path with my own children.  It, (motherhood and family-life), will never be perfect, but then lucky for me, perfection has never been my goal.

working on this

again, i can't name this emotion.

when i heard of my father's death, it was like, "yeah, so?"
it was just some freak novelty when my homeless  ex husband mentioned it to me.   that i mentioned in passing to my family like, spotting a dog walking backwards, which is curious and never happens.  it was freakier that i ran into my husband, who we thought was dead on the streets, because we hadn't heard or seen him for years and his family had been trying to file missing persons reports on him.  and weird that he knew more about my family 3,000 miles away than i did.  

not one tear did i shed.  not one sleepless night.  not one rage of anger. nada nothing. 
i think he's been dead to me for so many years, that his physical body expiring just had no meaning to it.

not that any of my ramblings above have anything to do with your father's death - it just made me think about why the thought of him doesn't make me want to break things. 
i did do the dutiful daughter bit and call to inquire how my mother was faring. 

i tried to tell her i was sorry i never called her, but that he was always there monitoring every phone call and i could never have a real conversation with her, just the two of us.
"well, you don't have to worry about that NOW." she said, with some hostility.  So I tried to talk to her about some issues, some real things, and she changed the topic and we ended up talking about the weather. 

I just kind of shook my head in disbelief that THIS poverty of a heart to heart was the sum total of my life with them.  I just totally gave up at that point.  the thimble sized ball of hope I could have SOMETHING that resembled a relationship with ANYONE in my family disappeared right then. And I wasn't sad about it.  I was relieved.  I could move on.

Removed emotions

It's hard to mourn a loss if there are no positive feelings associated with a particular person.  In fact, I have found more people mourn the personal loss of potential, than they mourn the loss of a person.

[Does that make sense?]

What I could have been

Having had NO positive feelings toward or from my biological family for a lifetime makes it so much easier to see around them and what I truly lost:  What I could have been. 
Without the tiniest bit of encouragement, I watched all my childhood and young adulthood disappear.  In my forties I stepped out a few times and made myself aware of what I could have been/done.  It was so exhilarating to see the things I was accomplishing; and then to let them all go.  All I felt was "their" negativeness that haunted me from my childhood:  Pretty is as pretty does; you sorry child; with never a positive reinforcement for anything I tried to do.  It is ingrained in my soul all those words of disapproval from the ones who could have nurtured but chose, instead, to keep me flat on the floor in the fetal position of nothingness.
I mourn for what I know, in my heart I could have been/done.  I never shed one tear over her and neither will I for him.  My personal loss of potential was their goal for me.  My mother wanted me tied to her forever and my father spent his time mentally spitting on me.  When they are both dead it will be my privilege to pee on their graves.

One Step Up From Bottom,

[sad nod]

Yes, with death, comes new life.

Strange... perhaps this is why so many adoptees are told their parents are dead, ("you are an orphan"), when in fact they are not. 

I hope you do

I haven't gotten to do that.  I really wanted to for awhile.  It doesn't matter now.

But it would have felt great. 

I really hope you get that opportunity. 

I think hanging people in effigy, while not a good idea when a person is alive, since viewed as a threat or assault, would be pretty wonderful after they are dead.
Maybe we could have an art installation of us abusing our dead parents.

The real piss?

Let's just hope if she follows her stream-of-consciousness fantasy, she doesn't get caught in the cemetery with her pants down.  I'd hate for Teddy to get arrested for "indecent exposure" and defacing public property... after all, who would take care of her kids if she was sitting in jail?

[Can we all say "poetic injustice" and "twisted irony"?]   

I have been around the block

I have been around the block a few times in my 58 years and have learned how to plan and follow through.  (when in my right mind of course); and have known the warped pleasure of unknown revenge.
 My son said I should use a cup but that would take some of the meaning away.  In this small rural cemetery it would be to my advantage to park down the road, walk in and then out again.  By wearing easily up and down pants and the fact that lights would be seen from a few blocks away, I would only have to cry from my loss if asked for a reason. 
This would be done while my children were being well taken care of...  I am not perfect.  I make mistakes.  But closure is closure. If truth be known, I believe most people here have done things that have had an element of risk involved to obtain peace of mind when it comes to the travesty of our own damaged past.

One Step Up From Bottom,

Clothing options

Of course, as a woman, you could always wear a dress/skirt with nothing underneath.  I imagine you'd want to carry a tissue with you, too... [demented giggle]

I seriously wonder how many people have actually done stuff like that before?  I have always seen the harsher-side of humanity, as many of the patients I had to take care of were from nursing-homes, where they were left to rot alive by their adult children.

It's has always amazed me how different people seek their own form of revenge.  <shudder>


btw, i found it really

btw, i found it really wonderful how supportive your son is! 
he obviously loves and cares about you and is compassionate about what you've gone through!

see?  you ARE a good mom!


My son is 20 and very compassionate when it comes to what we have all suffered.  Thank you for seeing it this way.  Being a good mom is an ongoing process where I fail miserably but start over each time having learned something from the failures. In coming here and baring my soul is where I feel the most progress and the determination to go on. 

One Step Up From Bottom,

you gotta respect progress

that's the major reason i never respected my parents - they never made or even attempted to make any personal progress.

that's a really powerful example for your kids to witness - and for you to share where you have been and where you plan to go gives everyone inspiration and hope.
and also a window into humanity and a recognition of their own weaknesses and potentials.

you're giving them tools to live by.

you can be proud of yourself for that.

and don't forget to tell your son thank you for giving it back to you!


that's a gem.  you should become a therapist.

Small sacrifice

The way I see it, my Adopted name, "Kerry", represents a breed of dog, a county in Ireland, and a breed of cow.

[I kid you not... I researched.]  ....

So... why buy the milk, when you can have the cow for free? 

I don't think people who have been treated like cow-pies (crap) all their lives should have to pay to feel better.  All it takes is a few kind words and a sincere interest in the well-being of another to make a huge difference in a person's life.  I believe the word is "compassion", and that should not cost a visit to a person who charges by the hour.

If I can help, and not hurt, I can see my own value.

[Besides, I'm no different than most of you.... just as long as I'm not ever sent to The Big House, I, too, can learn how to find some happiness.]




I have longed for so long for just that, "a few kind words of compassion."  WHY is it so hard for another human being to grasp that simple formula for well-being in another human? 
And as for paying for someone to listen to you... that is the most thrown-away money spent by people today!  JMO  The jerk I have tried to trust for nearly 18 months is the most untrustworthy piece of crap I have encountered since my world (as I thought I knew it) was destroyed!  He said, "I did not use words to lift you up because I did not want you to think I would then be easy."  At least his honesty made me know I had pegged him right.
In my huge "dear john" letter to my husband, this is exactly what I tried to express; how easy it would have been to have had sincere interest in the well-being of another... his daughter for a start.  How sex can stand in the way of seeing another as a human being and not an object is beyond me!  The world is being de-humanized in the name of self gratification.  May his dick rot off slowly...

One Step Up From Bottom,

Allow me to add...

Here's a sick visual:  may that rotting dick require him to do some of his own wound-licking.

[Yes, I know, I am one sick pup!]

"a few kind words of compassion."  WHY is it so hard for another human being to grasp that simple formula for well-being in another human? 

I think much of that has to do with how parents learn how to parent and show love to one another.  We can learn the words and the scripts, but what does it all mean if there is no feeling or emotion involved?

"Keeping our distance" is a lesson learned by and through example, and our first teachers are family members.  Without the lessons of forgiveness and acceptance, what do we have to follow? 


They're not all d***s

My therapist was actually really wonderful - for the things she was trained on. 
She was very intelligent, thoughtful, and patient.  And very, very supportive, compassionate, encouraging and a great listener.

The frustrating thing was FINDING her.  You almost have to get a degree to figure out what kind of therapist you need, and then research like hell to find the few who do that, and then they are either all booked up or cost as much as your rent. I had to harass people who never returned calls.  I was desperate and all I could think was, how many people have taken their lives during this process?  The LAST thing someone in crisis needs is every person in a position to help rejecting you, and not even being courteous about it.  So irresponsible...It took me over two months.  And another month before she could fit me in. 

The place I went to specialized in incest, and the therapists volunteered to work part time at half their private practice rate, so that was a good indicator that they were there for the right reasons.  Even so, after four months I had depleted all my savings.  But it was very educational and opened my eyes to the needs of myself as a child and how they were not met.  That's a foreign concept to someone who's always had to think adult things.

Anyway, without that distraction and busy-work,  I WOULD HAVE taken my life. 

I write this to say that good therapists do exist and they are out there.  It just sucks so many dicks are out there asking people to prostrate themselves so they can play god.

Had to run off on an errand,

Had to run off on an errand, but while in the car I thought, wtf, she already IS a therapist!

thank you


.... the last thing I'd want is for someone to take it in the @$$ like I did!  

One of the things I really like about these sort of discussions is how it proves just how difficult it is to accept the warmth of kindness from complete strangers.

In this case, your simple "thank you" put that stupid look on my face that says:  "I didn't do anything." [So what's expected of me, now?]

It's sad how we expect the things we shouldn't, and hide from the things we should embrace.

[If that isn't messed-up, I don't know what is!]

With that, I thank all of you for letting me learn WITH you.



That make sense

Yes, that makes sense. With the loss of my aparents, I mourned the loss of potential more than their loss.
When my afather left us for another woman, I felt exactly the same feelings than when my first father abandoned me. I realized after few months that I didn't miss him but I was longing to form a perfect family together since I was teen.
Same thing when my amother passed away, I grived over her death for five years. It took  me all those years to understand that I was mourning all the "it could have been..." and that I missed A mother and not MY mother.

the biggest mourning

is the mourning over the loss of OUR potential.

it's not exactly feeling sorry for oneself, but those stolen years also stole so many more potential selves we could have been.
so now we find ourselves decades later, after a long state of arrested development

having to begin and find our potential in the time that's left.

"I missed A mother and not MY mother."

That's exactly what I felt when my mother died.  I walked away in relief, and the only thing I missed was A mother
and not MY mother.  Your words bring comfort to me in that I never really could have said it this way or understood
it until I read what you wrote.   I still miss A mother.  I always will.

"I can be changed by what happens to me, I refuse to be reduced by it." M.A.
 One Step Up From Bottom

Grief's final stage

When I was learning about cancer, and the grief process patients and their families experienced with death and dying, I learned "grief theories".  According to Kubler-Ross, the final stage of grief/mourning is acceptance.

Once I learned these stages of grief, I was finally able to relate my adoption to a cancer from which I needed to recover.  

I very much understand the comment:  "I still miss A mother.  I always will."

For what it's worth, once I realized I never got to keep the mom I wanted and needed, and started to accept my status as "orphan", I finally began to not miss the mother I never had.

What I learned instead is, I really miss the secure comfort of someone mothering me... but I believe the warm loving actions and "the person" are two different things.  

I didn't feel nothing

I didn't feel nothing either when I learned about his death, two weeks ago.
I still feel nothing now, except that I'm having nigthmares of him (is that I can't name the emotion).
I haven't had nigthmares of them (my adoptive parents) since two years. I learned how to control flashbacks, but I don't know how to control dreams.

when they reoccur, if they

when they reoccur, if they repeat themselves the same way and you are aware of how they run, you can control them by willing different outcomes.  

i can never remember my dreams, but both my kids swear by lucid dreaming techniques.


"willing a new outcome"

Nope.  They all remain the same for me.  Perhaps this "new outcome" has more to do with a specific situation, than a general state of conditioning?


you're supposed to start with one simple thing, like, for example, moving a book from one location to another. 
once you can effect a small tangible change, you can add to those changes over repeated occurrences. 
in due time, you are writing and controlling the outcome.

maybe when enough specifics are changed, the general state of helplessness and anxiety gets dissipated.

Losing (then gaining) control

I've been wondering how this technique works for the person who lived in an explosive/volatile environment?  For instance, what if situations (environments or faces) changed but the abusive outcome always remained?

[I know for myself, dream planning or manipulating details has never worked.  I don't dream often, but when I do, it's very vivid and once I'm in it, I'm in it until I'm awake and dealing with the memory.]

Do you have more information about this sleep control-process, and if it's useful for those have experienced long-term domestic violence?

Here's something for

Here's something for you:

Overcoming Nightmares

It's a good overview of the types of nightmares people have, how lucid dreaming can help, and guidelines for confronting/manipulating the nightmare.
I guess I would start by checking out the author of this paper's book, and he also references a couple of other books.  The library would be a good resource! 
If you can get to the point where you can ask yourself, am i dreaming? while in a dream, and can answer yourself, yes.  then you can manipulate your dreams.  There are a lot of books on how to build upon this self consciousness.

From the couple of hours of google-ing i did for this, it seems that these are the issues with lucid dreaming:

  • For people who's dreams are ultra vivid and real, the frightening thing for them is not knowing when it's live or when it's memorex...their dreams are like groundhog day, and it makes real life seem unstable, because they could be dreaming.  So lucid dreaming techniques are very comforting for them.  Because it allows them to recognize that it's only a dream, this isn't happening.
  • For people with recurring nightmares, lucid dreaming can help them confront traumas - which could be dangerous - or tell their fears to go away, giving them peace in waking life. Jury's not out on this.
  • For people who don't have vivid dreams but want them, it sounds like techniques to induce them can really mess with sleep patterns and general well being.
  • Sounds like some people who learn to manipulate their dreams then stop having vivid dreams and then miss them. 
  • It also sounds like it could be quite fun to turn dream world on its head and interview protagonists and have different outcomes.

me, I only recall having a vivid recurring nightmare once in my life.  it was absolutely epic and i was exhausted when i woke up.  over the course of a couple of weeks i changed it a little, day by day, and it finally went away.  i didn't know about lucid dreaming at the time.

I really don't know anything about this topic. 

wow... excellent!

Thanks for doing that bit-o-research for me!

I find when I am stressed, my nightmares come back with a vengeance.  Funny thing is, I don't know I'm really stressed until the nightmares appear!

I usually use them as my guide:  instead of looking to control or change the dreams, I ask myself, "what is that nightmare telling me?"

More often than not, I can make the past connect with my present, and use that as my tool to redirect my day-to-day awake thinking.  To this I admit, it seems all I do is think!

[Did that at all make sense?!?]

well, some theorize that

well, some theorize that nightmares are a symptom of PTSD and they bother us because they want recognition and closure.

some think vanquishing mortal dangers in our dream life vanquishes underlying anxieties in our waking life.
others think that laughing at them and discounting them in dream life also makes anxieties disappear.

as i said, i don't know anything about this topic. 

Pound Pup Legacy